


Silence

by JacksWild



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 10 years later, F/M, Founders, Growth, Long Form, Loss, Love, M/M, Magical History, Maybe - Freeform, Powerful Harry, Powerful Snape, Slow Burn, War, celebration, peverell, we will see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksWild/pseuds/JacksWild
Summary: We move forward and we promise, that this time - this time it will be different - this time we will make it matter, this time we will remember. And every time, we seem to forget.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need healing and writing is my only solace. I own nothing of JKR's world, just using it to heal my broken and wary soul.

“Say, something, mate… you can’t wait forever.” 

“I – I will… I just, give me a bit, Ron.”

Harry turned his heel and left Ron to deal with Hermione who was walking up a little tipsier than he was currently willing to deal with. 

Year 10, the big one… like in all the other times they celebrated that horrible night, they were somehow smaller celebrations. As if, suddenly every witch and wizard could breathe peacefully because it’s been long enough, 10 big ones, 10 years of freedom, he scoffed into the ballroom – though no one noticed. He picked up a glass of champagne from a floating tray and made for the terrace that overlooked the gardens. He was so completely and thoroughly done with these bastardizations of celebrating peace. 

Any person with even one eye, could see them for the social networking that it had become. It left a certain distaste on his mouth, something tangy and bitter. He loathed it. He loathed being forced to make an appearance, adding yet another reason for people to speculate more about him. As if, in the years between he hadn’t earned a moment’s peace or privacy. 

He didn’t lean against the bannister, didn’t take a moment’s respite to look over the gardens. No, he walked down the sweeping stairs and went to the edge of the maze, the glorious labyrinth that he never saw anyone enter and anyone leave. He meandered his way in, not looking, just absorbing the silence. The peace and calm that came from being away from it all; all the talking, all the buzz words, all the twinkling eyes that reminded him of old men with crazy master plans. He sighed and clinked his nail against the rim of his glass, the glass sound echoing over the silence of the maze adding an element of something.

He breathed and listened, silence, rare as it was, was a beauty. He hadn’t had a moment’s silence in 27 years. From when he could remember as a child to when he was a young man fighting a war he had no choice in, to when he was a man fighting to figure out what he wanted to do. He had rather liked his career, but even in hollows of the journey when he was neck deep, foot deep, breath deep in a search for a magical item – even then, the haunting echo of needs, of people, of things always followed. 

He turned again and again, paying just enough attention to not get irrevocably lost, but not overly concerned. He’d gotten out of bigger scrapes than being stuck in a maze in the ministry gardens. The champagne glass was well and truly empty by the time he made it to the center of the labyrinth, and he was surprised pleasantly to find a sculpture of something other than the battle and the heroes. It was a phoenix and a serpent entwined in what could only be described as an embrace. Water falling off the silver scaled back of the snake, and fire glowing within the bronze interior of the amazing bird. He summoned a bench and sat back, taking time to just look at the beauty before him. Not thinking, not emoting, not curious, just engaging in a way with art that few rarely do – in silence and allowing oneself to be truly captivated. 

He couldn’t have said how long he sat there, moments, minutes, an hour before he felt the change in the air, the shift that informed him that he was not alone. He didn’t allow himself a reaction, after all this wasn’t his only to appreciate, but the sound of two sets of footfalls brought him to his feet and edging to the side of the open area, into an alcove. He hated hiding, but rather liked it more than engaging in one on two.

“… can’t be serious.” 

Harry shivered and rolled his eyes. Only he could get stuck in a situation where one of the very reasons he had escaped the damned celebration, followed him a mile deep into a maze with a paramour. 

“I am, deadly serious, Severus.” 

Harry snarled into the darkness, he had done what he could for the Malfoys, and had done admirably if he said so himself for Malfoy and Narcissa – but after everything Malfoy the Senior had been acquitted of all crimes, through no assistance but the rest of his coin to donation, so long as they could keep their home and most of their businesses. 

“We have discussed this Luc, I refuse to be placed in a situation where I am to converse with that man. A blind and deaf man could get the clear impression that he neither wishes to speak nor hear me out.” Harry watched as Severus Snape, Potions Master, Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and creator of the Wolfsbane potion that could heal a newly bitten male, sat down in a huff on the very bench he had pulled forward. He didn’t much like that the two men were discussing a male, and he hated spying. Had never had a particular taste for it. 

He moved forward and put his hands out, “Professor,” he practiced his breathing and measured his steps. Noting that only Malfoy twitched toward his wand before halting himself. 

“Mr. Potter, what are you doing in the hedgerows?” Malfoy asked, more than a hint of disdain layer the cultured voice. 

“I had thought reporters had followed me through the maze to disturb my peace, and had been hiding.” Harry spared the blond with a glance before returning his gaze to the Professor. “But upon further review, I realized I would rather not be in a situation to hear private conversation.” He bowed slightly forward and closed his eyes, hoping that he had done the right thing, and praying fervently to a god he didn’t believe in that he could escape without further embarrassment. 

“Decided spying on innocents, not to your taste?” 

Harry couldn’t help gritting his teeth and had to focus on breathing three times before moving away with no word. “Contemptuous prat.” He heard the blond say as he turned the row and was back in the trail heading to the ballroom. He pulled a tempus up and noted that he only had 20 minutes until his speech and then he could leave this hellish hole, and go home to his privacy. 

Focusing on the hedgerows to find his way back, it took him a moment longer than he was comfortable with, to hear the steps that were following him. He quieted his breathing and noted that it was only one pair, and they were moving at a leisurely pace. He made the mental process of thinking that Malfoy wouldn’t be moving lazily, he always walked as if he was being followed by a procession of servants. With a purpose only a man with little focus and too much money could have. He steeled himself for the inevitable and asked vaguely to the goddesses why they always twisted their weave of fate around him.

“Mr. Potter,” he heard the deep rumbling voice that pour over his skin like a warm firewhiskey and hot chocolate.

He stopped out of respect and turned waiting for the other man. “Professor,” he said and bowed forward again. 

“Why do you continue to bow, I am not royalty Mr. Potter.” 

Harry couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his mouth, nor note the vague exasperation that colored Snapes voice. 

“You are not royalty, that is true, Lord Prince. Regardless, with due respect one must find a way to show it through whatever means possible.” He noted the vaguest tint of color that stained Snapes cheeks before he turned to stand beside the tall, brooding man, as they walked back through the maze. 

It was a rather companionable silence, if nothing else. He wished that he had the ability to speak, say something, anything! But nothing found its way through his lips and he focused on moving one foot forward, and the other… hoping that this wasn’t as awkward as he rather thought it was. 

“You are silent. I never imagined you would be a man of few words, Mr. Potter.” 

“Imagine me often?” He asked before he thought about it, and immediately regretted it. “That was uncalled for, sir. I have many words, several that I would like to share with you – but as I’ve no foot to stand on nor do I have an elegance that I feel you would require. I would rather not embarrass myself with one such as yourself. Your refinement reminds me how little I know and how small I am. Good evening, Professor.” He pushed forward past the last edge and didn’t look back. He had 2 minutes to spare before his speech and 22 minutes until he could make good on his escape and go home. Silence and privacy, they awaited him. 

He pushed through the doors and walked along the edge of the ballroom, making eye contact with Ron and Hermione, noting that her fingers loosened their death grip on her husband’s arm. He made his way over to Kingsley and took a moment to enlarge his notes for the speech. 

“You ready, son?” 

“As I ever am, Kings.” 

“I will introduce you, as always. Then the stage is yours.” 

“Yes sir.”

He watched Kingsley move up the stairs in the impractical African robes, that were glorious and beautiful and bold. He took several deep breaths, and absently looked out to note where Ron and Hermione were. Front and center, and there was Molly and Arthur, and there was McGonagal and Filius, he noted several Aurors and Masters, people in their individual fields, several faces he didn’t know, a healer or two, and the Malfoys… and just as Kingsley introduced him, he swept his gaze across the shadowed eyes of Snape. Standing against the towering marble statue of Dumbledore. 

He walked up to the podium, and shook his nerves off. It was never easy to speak to the crowds, he wasn’t good at it in war time, and wasn’t good at it with preparation and no attack looming. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, congratulations. We’ve made it 10 years.” He stopped and looked down at his notes and immediately hated them. The vague tangy bitter taste of prepared speeches and planned questions and answers urging him to be reckless. 

“10 years ago on this night, we did something unthinkable. We fought and killed a dark wizard. Through no particular person, we rose up against a man that wielded the darkest and harshest things that are within us, and used them to harm others. Most of you were not there that night, and I cannot say if that is luck, or talent, but for that alone you should be additionally thankful. I wake up still, all these years later… the smell of blood and sweat and tears staining my senses. The sounds of crying, the echoes of screaming, the blasting lights of spell after spell eating away at the darkness. I am here because I recognize that others fought hard and helped me stay alive and get to that point. But I am not here without repercussions. I have been so proud of all those that fought that night that were in my year and below. Young men and women that were on the cusp of something new and scary and overwhelming and challenging and terrifying. Wizards and witches that were willing to lay down whatever was left of their lives to fight something they didn’t know enough about. They believed in one thing that night, and no – it wasn’t me. They believed in the continued goodness of humanity. They believed that at the end of the night, regardless of the outcome, they chose to fight – and that fight would not be in vain. They believed that with all the hard work and dedication and spirit and blood and pain and horror, they would come out either on top or dead. And they knew that in death, there would be glory in knowing they didn’t stand down in the face of abuse and darkness. Many died that night, and their ghosts will follow my soul until the day I die. But more lived that night because of those that fought and those that died. So instead of your congratulatory conversation tonight. Instead of the shaking of hands, and the passing of money, and the making of plans, and the building of empires, and the talk of politics and work and things. Focus on the silence in the lives that are lost. The echo of silence that lingers behind their stories that were unfinished. Focus on the silence that overwhelms the families of those left behind, in the wake of the horror with the knowledge that even in their loved ones death, they can find pride because they died in honor. Tonight – on this, the tenth year of the war that we call great, seek silence and find continued peace in that. Thank you.”

There was shock of silence and he almost believed for a moment that his words had sunk in, before the entire ballroom stood and thundered an applause. He was both livid that they had missed this point, and impressed that he had said something meaningful enough to be okay with the applause as this intimated that they had at least heard his words. 

He moved off the platform and waved Kingsley off, he didn’t want to hear anything just yet. Craving the silence that he had just spoken so fondly of. He gave the signal to Hermione and Ron and they nodded, knowing that he was making good on his escape. He was tired, bone wary and tired, and wanted nothing more than a good firewhiskey and coco, and silence. 

“Mr. Potter,” He stopped as the hand took his shoulder and he didn’t look into the shadowed darkness, he didn’t want Snape to see the secrets that were just under the surface, not hidden away in the tumultuous war that was taking place in his mind and heart. “You seem to be mistaken, you have plenty of words, and all of the necessary elegance. Should you ever wish to speak with me, you might find that you have the refinement that it would take to keep my undivided attention.” He felt the hand on his shoulder squeeze infinitesimally before loosening its grip. 

“It would be my honor, sir.” He replied and rushed away to the edge of the foyer where the floos where to the outside world. Too much was on his mind, too much on his heart. Not enough going on in his stomach – he found himself on the other end of the floo, puking his guts up and crying into the grass. 

He finished puking and kept crying and welcomed the cool fae breeze of Scotland witch forests that he had built his home near. A big billowing fire place that was surrounded by a meadow more than 30 meters wide and 20 meters long. Hedges and rocks littered the ground in ancient shapes and symbols that protected the land and the trees and the animals. He breathed in the silence of the dark Scottish forest and calmed his raging heart. He stood and moved forward, noting the glowing eyes on the edge of the meadow. 

“Jameson, darling…” he said and watched the large black hound come out of the dark shadows and into the moonlight of the meadow to meet his master. “You waited for me all night? Such a good boy, you are.” He said, and laid a hand against the large head that resembled something between a mastiff and a hunting hound. “Let’s head in, I feel a chill in the air – a storm is brewing for sure.” 

He felt the wards shimmer as they accepted him and his lovable hound, and he saw his house. Lights glowing in the front windows and the garden laying waiting for the water and wind the sky was to give it within due time. 

He settled into his office with a glass of firewhiskey and coco, a book on potions and magical items, and pyjamas. He the book was closed, the fire was crackling, and the house was silent. He closed his eyes, and focused on his speech and found enigmatic eyes looking back at him behind his curtained mind. He sighed and knew that it would be pointless to try and think of anything else tonight. 

He took a sip of the drink and got up. Placing the book on the coffee table and motioning Jameson to his bed just outside his room where he lay on guard at all times. He left his room open but Jameson never came in unless needed and kept guard in his sleep on his master. 

He made himself comfortable on his large bed and let his mind drift to the evening. Sipping his drink slowly while he thought about the words that he shared with Snape, and those that the man shared in return. He thought about all the things that he had wanted to say, all the things he had wanted to do. He just wanted to hug the man, and if that wasn’t the most damnable response to what was once a man who tormented his every move, then Harry didn’t know what insanity was. He felt the vague arousal spike, the slow roll of his belly, the itch that never was able to be scratched and let it wash over him and ebb away. He had long since gotten past the need to relieve himself over any passing fancy. He finished his whiskey and set it down, moving to the toilet to take care of his evening ritual before sleeping. 

That night he dreamed of a dark man protecting his every minute, his sleep was peaceful, and silent. He woke with a heavy heart and a clear mind and acknowledged that it was more than past time to make a call on Snape.


	2. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember, Harry - for when you forget, you doom yourself to a life of repetition.

The decision to finally visit Snape was met with about as much wild abandon as a man finally freed from a mental hospital, full of anxiety, trepidation, joy and blinding uncertainty. Harry had sat at his breakfast table Sunday morning and had sipped his tea ignoring the toast and jam that was cold on his plate. Instead he focused on the fog rolling over the crest of the moor, the clouds that were in the gray sky, the vibrant dark green of the grass and trees, and the way his Lilies of the Valley were still standing proud and glorious in an array of colors and shades. 

He found himself repeatedly unable to focus throughout the day instead putting all his tasking to the side, and letting himself finally just think about that night and the days that followed. He realized in a fit of pique while gardening that he hadn’t thought of that part of that night nor the things that had happened thereafter, in nearly as many years as he had since been living after them. 

The blood coating his hands as he felt the tears well up behind his eye lids. He never understood why he had been crying for Snape in that moment. Up until that very moment, he had loathed the man, and he had felt righteous in that hate. He had accounted it to the fact that watching any person die would have caused him to emote, but he could readily admit the level of bullshite that, that thought was – as watching any manner of death eater that night die, had not caused such an equal emotion. 

He remembered not removing the blood from his hands, as Ron and Hermione had ushered him out of the shack and he had gone up to the Castle to look at the memories in his hand. The memories that he had seen fall from dark and warm eyes. Eyes that he had never really looked into other than to relay his abject loathing. He remembered shaking off that thought as he ran with all his might up the spiral stair case that was the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. The blood was still coating his hands and his arms, his nails drying with dark brown and black crust, his shirt filthy and heavy with sweat, mud, loss and fear. He never talked about his breakdown in that office that night. Coming out of the memories and falling to the ground and for minutes just crying as any young man could, when alone. In reckless abandon. He had heaved with the loss, the anger, the sadness, the overwhelming need to do something but knowing that no matter what he did, the man that had been so vital to his life was dead. Had in fact, just died in his very arms. 

The aching loss was so heavy he felt the weight of life drowning him, and he hadn’t ever spoken about how it was that very moment, that very realization that had carried him to the forbidden forest. His steps heavy with purpose, but laden with loss. How when he kissed the stone to call those most important to him, he had been so happy to see those that had appeared, and so utterly wrecked that Snape hadn’t appeared. He had held his mothers’ hand, had heard his fathers’ voice, had shared a moment with Sirius and Remus and had lifted his head high knowing that his journey had come to an end and he was willing to do this – if for no other reason than to make Snapes lifelong sacrifice worth it. 

He had died that night. Other people didn’t understand what that felt like to be able to say that. He had died, and had had a conversation with Albus Dumbledore on the causeway in Kings Cross. He had seen the very horcrux that had held him in this irrevocable journey, curled under a bench, dead and sad and cold. He had returned because he didn’t know how he would go on, how he would be able to go on without seeing it all to an end. 

He remembered the compassion that was in the eyes of a woman he had felt very little more than annoyance for, he remembered the comforting weight of Hagrid as he had been cradled lovingly in his arms. He remembered the sound of Voldemort breathing as he was carried next to him on the walk from the forest to the castle. He had remembered the feeling of Hagrids’ tears as they fell unhidden on his arm. He remembered the moment he felt his heart beat for the first time, hard and powerful, and strong with conviction when Voldemort had started talking and Neville had stood upright and proud. He remembered the tumble from Hagrids arms, as if he had been falling forever, the 6 feet from his arms to the ground feeling like 30… a never ending void as he waited for his feet to hit the ground… for his next step to happen. 

He remembered the mind numbing fear of not knowing what he was going to do. What he was going to do… what was he going to do? He remembered the scream of shock and pain from Voldemort as he realized the moment was neigh. He remembered, in that final moment, as Nagini was slain and he was there with wand in hand, blood and dirt and sweat and tears coating his very clothing as if he soul was protected with it all… the eyes of a man dying in his hands, a life lived to protect him, honor his mother, and save the very world he was in… and the word that came tumbling from his lips with a scream so loud and so firm and so strong he was sure he had changed the very meaning of the spell for all of time to come. 

He remembered the temporary blindness of light, the sheer panic of his knowledge that he was doing it. He was doing the very thing that he had been raised to do. He was creating a shield of love for the entire world, all man, woman, wizard, muggle, animal, creature, being… he was healing old wounds and building bridges and shining a light and empowering the very light with the knowledge that darkness can only do one thing, and that was crumble. 

He remembered the moment that he had seen the ghosts and spirits tumble from the spell light, and the very feeling as he looked into the Dark Lords eyes. The sheer second, that felt like years, centuries, millennia, as he stared into the unforgiving, cold, callus and fearful eyes of a being meant on his very destruction. He remembered Snape, and the death that was still coating his shirt, the blood that was still weighing heavy on his hands, and he screamed with his whole heart. The pain, the loss, the anger and thoughtless aggression that was built up inside him, and the frozen second of time – when he knew he had won. When Voldemort’s’ spell light had shuttered, and he had known no other feeling as great as that, the feeling of vindication and glory, of knowledge and power and the resulting comprehension that this is what every – single – moment – in a second, that all the death had led to this breath of life. 

He had won. 

He had lost so much. 

He had crumpled to the stone when Voldemort had. He had more felt the people that had run to him, instead of seen them. He had more felt the magical exhaustion, as he had understood it. He had seen the darkness more than he had been able to ask for someone to go for the man lying in dishonor on the cold wooden floor of the shack. He had felt what it had felt like to die again, twice in a night, as he welcomed oblivion.

He remembered waking up, 3 days later a private room away from reports and from cameras and lights and people. He had remembered the heavy weight of what it meant to win a war. Others would get it, but they wouldn’t understand the weight of the world. The very feeling of unresolved blood that he still felt all over his body, regardless of the fact that he was clean.  
The first person to visit him had been Madam Pomphrey and she had shared that he had both suffered from bodily exhaustion as well as malnutrition and coming to his magical majority all in one night. How all of this had resulted in some changes that he wouldn’t be able to understand for some time until he had enough time to feel his new magic and his new strength. He privately exalted in that moment, that it wasn’t magical majority that he had come into, but the very darkness that had held his shattered heart for 17 years was gone, and he was able to breathe. 

He had thanked her for everything, and had asked to see Ron and Hermione and she hadn’t said no. She would have never thought to say no. 

He remembered the tears that had fallen when his two best friends had come running in and came to him without a trace of shame or embarrassment. The room silent but for the tears and he felt the healing that had embraced them all.

He had never regretted his first words, but had been amused by his knowledge of something before his friends. 

“Snape, we need his body. He needs to be cleared.” He had said, into the very silence of the room. He had spent the better part of the next three hours explaining everything that had happened, and had held Hermione as her soft heart had bled at the story of a man who had lived a life regretting and serving for a mistake he had made more than half his life ago. He remembered Ron fuming at the machinations that Dumbledore had put the dark and brooding man through, thinking of the chess pieces quicker than Harry had. He remembered Ron and Hermione leaving to take care of this as he locked and warded the room door. He had fallen asleep with the knowledge that he would be alone until Ron and Hermione came back.

He remembered the next two weeks as they had spoken with Kingsley, with Luna and the Quibbler in her name now that her father had left the post, they had spoken with Dale Creevey to get the photographs of Harry to compel the Wizarding World of his legitimacy. They had built up a case with several lawyers and goblins who had the magical contract that had been created the night that Severus Tobias Snape had sworn his life to Dumbledore to protect one, Harry James Potter. The had searched out and finally obtained Dumbledores portrait that appeared on the Headmasters wall 24 hours after the final battle. They had kept the body of Snape in a stasis charm in a private room off the medical ward next to Pomprey’s private rooms. 

He remembered the day, 7 days after the final battle, on the eve of them going to the Wizengamot for the first of dozens of trials – when a scream echoed from the very bowels of Madam Pophreys’ rooms. He never knew how he had apparated that night inside Hogwarts, when this was very implicitly supposed to not be able to happen, but he had. As he had appeared, he had felt every weight, every heavy aching thing in his body lift… Severus Snape was sitting upright, in his bed, cleaned and… awake. Harry had softly asked Poppy to check him for everything she could think of. He had rubbed the DA coin and had summoned Hermione and Ron with it, they had come running to him in less than 3 minutes, and he had met them outside the door. He had summarized all he had known and asked Hermione to go get Dumbledores portrait, and had asked Ron to get Kingsley. He had summoned Winky, and when she had appeared he had asked her to get an elf to please get a goblin executor of the magical contract for Severus Tobias Snape, and for her to please make a fresh meal of broth and soft fruits and mash. She had looked in and seen the living ex-headmaster lying on the bed, and he had seen her little eyes fill with water, and he remembered, clearly, the first moment he had ever felt true conviction for all he was doing and about to do for the dark, brooding man. 

“For him, Master Harry, sir… anything.” She had clapped her tiny hands and three more elves appeared. He had watched as she sent two into the room to take care of all the needs of the man once dead, now living, sent the other to Gringotts, and had clapped her hands when all had been resolved to disappear to the kitchens. 

He waited as patiently as was possible for Poppy to complete her examination of Snape when she finally summoned him to the door. He remembered her hushed tones, and she explained that Snape was going through what she could only call the very same thing that he had gone through 4 days prior. 

He had been magically exhausted, malnourished, and to her absolute astonishment and secret delight, coming into his magical majority as well. Harry had filed that away, he would talk to Ron and Hermione – as happy as he was for Snape, he immediately wondered if every Death Eater that had cosigned to Voldemort when they were 17 had signed their Majority away, and would now being coming into additional magic.

He had asked her to see to her patients, and to not be concerned, but that he was going to ward and lock the door. The elves and Hermione and Ron would be able to get in, and she would as well if an emergency was evident. She had reluctantly agreed, and had softly touched his cheek. He remembered feeling the warmth of her concern and love weigh softly on his skin for a moment after she turned and left. 

The next several minutes were painful for a myriad of reasons, and Harry could admit that he had never thought about them again. Because he knew himself and knew that he would have made the worse, most rash decision to halt all plans, had he allowed himself to react. 

He had been cursed at, verbal insults thrown, a parry of left and right of sliced anger and aggression from the very man he had grown to respect in death. He had found a spiteful and hurt man – and Harry had no means of coping. He had waited for the vitriol to end, and he had said only 6 sentences before calmly excusing himself from the room. 

“I am happy that you are alive, sir. I have, with the help of you and many more, accomplished the only goal that I had in my life so far. I am aware of the sacrifices you have made. You will be contained to this room, for your health and safety for the next several days until we are sure of your continued safety from the wizarding world. I – I am sorry for everything, sir. And, well, I am thankful for everything.” He had turned and walked out of the room, and had advised that anyone who needed to see him, meet him in the Headmasters office, and that no one but the elves and Poppy were to visit the patient. 

The elves had taken the portrait of Albus into the room, where it had stayed for nearly a week. The elves had fed, cleaned, taken care of, and showered Snape for the following days while Harry, Ron, Hermione, Kingsley and ultimately Albus’ portrait, the goblins and several lawyers had accomplished the inconceivable. They had not only gotten Severus Snape acquitted of all charges, they had also – with no conceivable understanding, earned the man not only the adoring love of the greater Wizarding population, but two Orders of Merlin First class. 

Harry remembered that last day that he had seen Snape on the grounds of Hogwarts, before he had walked away from him for the final time. He had knocked softly on the door to the private room, and had been summoned in. He had wanted to cower under the glare of the long haired man, but had held to what little courage his small, soft and aching heart had. 

“These are yours. I have used your memories, but to the best of intentions, and not all of them – only those that were absolutely necessary. Sir, you are… you are free.” He had held the wooden box that was nearly 18 inches wide and 5 inches deep out to the man, and had turned before he opened it to examine the contents. 

He had walked out of that ward, and spent the next 3 weeks getting Narcissa and Draco absolved and had then buried himself in the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Avoiding all contact with Snape, and succeeding. He never took meals at the school, instead seeking refuge in the big ginger family he called his own. He would sweat and cry daily, and spend hours crying over the loss of thoe that they buried, and he would wake up again and do it all over. He had been taking only a day or two a week to take care of getting his personal life situated and had been speaking with the goblins which were much more lenient with him after his generous donation to Gringotts, on the agreement that they no longer abuse animals for security. They assisted him in locating magical land that he could build, and he had built his home. He had, had 13 Grimauld torn down on the inside with a magical curse breaking team, and he had turned it into his town home. 

He spent a year rebuilding his life, and Hogwarts, and his faith in people and love and hope. And on the first anniversary of the battle, he had been asked to speak – he had, and he had seen Snape in the audience, and his heart had both broke and healed. He never spoke to him, but he spoke to the audience about strength and unity, about love and compassion, about bridges and hope. He had left that night, and disappeared to his new home, and from the world, for months. 

He had only returned several months later, when a letter had shown up at his door, requesting him to be seen at the Ministry for the Department of Magical Item Resolution. He had found a job he had loved, that allowed him to live in silence, and away from the never ending weight of expectation. He had found a new purpose. 

He came out of his thoughts to Jameson licking his foot, and reminding him once again, to eat. He got up and made curry while he spoke to a piece of parchment.

“Professor, it would be my greatest honor to meet for a moment of your time. Whenever is open for your convenience. With greatest regards, Harry Potter.”

He had watched the parchment roll up into a scroll and disappear. He was shocked when less than a few minutes later a scroll appeared on his dining table. 

“Mr. Potter, your invitation is reasonable. If you would find yourself agreebale to meet in the courtyard of Hogwarts tomorrow at 9am, I would find myself honored to speak with you.” 

He sent a letter of confirmation and settled in for his curry. 

His heart lighter for the first time in 10 long years, hope softly making its way around his wary soul. He slept well that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments, kudos, love, is welcome. I have not had this beta'd.. so all errors are mine. 
> 
> Love you all.


	3. Awe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recognizing when you're given a second chance... and looking at awe at all that provided to you.

Harry woke with little expectation of the events to lay ahead of him. He was neither overjoyed nor was he terrified, he was rather a place directly in between. Confident that regardless of the meeting itself, it was time for it to happen, and he would come out the wiser. He dressed with deft thought to appearance, focusing on looking professional but not gaudy, and making sure to look a little less like his father. 

He stared a lot longer in the mirror in the bath, than he remembered doing in far longer than he’d cared to admit. The shade of facial hair, added a hint of manly expectation and he rather thought it looked dashing. He did a correcting charm to fix the edges and look more refined and he combed his slightly longer hair to the side in a windswept bang. He rather knew that it would be messy sooner rather than later, but he figured that showing up in good looks, was better than looking unkempt from the beginning. 

He ended up running a minute late, and ran from his home without eating for having spent so much time focusing on his appearance. He decided while throwing the powder into the floo, to not think so hard on why his looks mattered so much. 

He came out of the floo in The Three Broomsticks, and dusted off his blazer and dark jeans. He was beyond the stumbling from the floo stage of his youth, but never got the hang of coming out of them completely clean. He waved to Rosmerta, the ghost of the dead lady barkeep, still dressed in a bosom showing dress and a flirty smile always gracing her soft face. 

He left the pub and did a tempus, noting he had fifteen minutes to walk to the gates and meet Snape, he figured that if he didn’t dawdle or get caught up in chatter with any particular person, he’d get there with a few minutes to spare. He waved a small glamour on himself to avoid people, and kept his pace brisk. 

He couldn’t stop his eyes from wondering the grounds and was taken back to his childhood, the grounds between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts were full of riotous colors, the dark purples of the Murtcaps and the nearly florescent blue of the Merry Poppies that were dancing in the breeze made his heart feel all the lighter. He made a promise mentally, to check on McGonagall, he’d been remiss and he knew that now. He needed to check on the Headmistress and see how she was. 

The wards to Hogwarts welcomed him like a shower of electricity ghosting over his skin with soft fingers. He felt immediately protected and welcomed, and he knew what it felt like to come home. He couldn’t hardly wipe the smile from his face, partly for his lack of knowledge that it was even there. He felt his shoulders straighten a little, his back a little more firm, his walk full with a little more poise, he felt confident and in power and control. 

He realized… this is was excitement felt like. He hadn’t felt it, in nearly as long as he’d been away from these grounds. He vaguely felt annoyed and vowed to fix that. Maybe it was time to get another mission – he filed that thought in his mind and pushed past the metal gate at the edge of the bridge that passed the cavern on the west entrance to the gardens and courtyards. He pulled his tempus again and noticed that he was more than several minutes early, so he slowed his gait and took a moment to breathe the air. The last moment that he’d been on this particular bridge was when Seamus had been given full lateral to blow the bloody thing up to stop the Death Eaters. Harry chuckled and picked up an errant stone that was littering the side of the walk and tossed it up a couple times, catching it and letting the awe of magic and healing, cure some of the wounds in his heart. 

He tossed the stone once more in the air over the edge of the bridge and swiped his other hand in the air and watched as the stone burst into a million fragments of green, red, yellow and blue. He was home… he felt the comfort of it and it lightened his steps as he moved forward to meet Snape.

He walked to the edge of the courtyard and noted that he was just on time, the courtyards were devoid of children and he noted that it was more likely that they were in classes this time of morning, and wondered vaguely if Snape had let another teacher take his morning class, or if he was without one on this Monday morning. He stepped between two pillars and watched the very man he was to meet, walk from the steps of a massive parapet. He felt the soft smile at seeing the healthy glow of Snape, and the way that he moved with poise and grace, all these years later. 

He leaned against the pillar and waited to be noticed, more sure that he’d already been noted. 

“Do you make a habit of lurking in shadows, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked as he alighted from the final stair and looked straight ahead into his eyes.   
“With no evidence from recent events, to convince you otherwise it would be hard to say no, sir.” He said and smiled full right. 

“Come along, we’ve got a walk to make and I would like to get to the destination before the students get out of classes and note a celebrity among their school walls.” Harry watched Snape say this, and though he generally felt a certain anger at being referred to as a celebrity, he noted the slight smirk and the way the dark as black eyes, held no ill will. 

“Of course, sir. Cannot imagine what they’d do see two heroes in their midst. I am sure it would be nothing but cacophony.” He said and laughed at the quirk of the eyebrow on the normally blank face of the professor. 

“Most assuredly.” 

He followed Snape for a moment until taking the initiative to walk beside the man, and stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. He didn’t feel awkward but he didn’t feel as confident as he had before. He wondered if there would ever be a point in his life when he would reek of power like the man to his right. 

“Are you going to ask the destination, or do you also make a habit of following without any question… still?” 

Harry took a moment to think about tone and context and rather enjoyed the knowledge that Snape was testing his emotions and what he believed to be his wit. He figured it was a good thing that he’d taken time in the past 10 years to secure his emotional range and let it focus on good as much as possible. 

“I generally tend to trust those that I know would never mean me ill will, sir.” He didn’t look at the man to his right, but continued to focus on the hallways that moved forward and up the stairs that went through the very middle of the school. “Generally, though, I will admit to be a bit flummoxed that the Dungeon Master as yourself would be… would be taking me up through the school, instead of down. But, as I trust you, I wouldn’t dream of questioning you.” He smiled and couldn’t help looking through his peripheral to note the slight smirk that seemed to be pasted permanently on his companions features. 

“You are a bit of a brat, aren’t you, Mr. Potter?” 

Harry outright laughed at this, and noted that several of the portraits in the vicinity did so as well. “Yes, but I apparently save the very worst of my personality for you, sir.”

“If this is the worst, then it appears that even the very worst you have has become better than most of those in your generation. Congratulations, Mr. Potter, you appear to have best your peers in yet something else.” 

Harry felt the chuckle as he continued to follow the Potions Master up and up and up to the very highest floor of the castle. “What floor is this? 11 or 12? I have never been this high without being in the owlery or astronomy tower…” he said in awe. Happy that he was in shape enough to not be out of breath, but still feeling the steps in his quads. 

“Well caught. We are on the 12th floor of the East wing. I have something that I would like to show you and it’s a rather wonderful place to take breakfast tea and have a conversation.”

Harry stayed in awe at the paintings that littered the walls around him. Ancient paintings of sorcerers and sorceress’, vast 15 foot paintings that were 10-foot-tall full of forests and deer and creatures he’d only read about. Brownies the ancient ancestors of the elves that lived today, gnomes that were building treehouses; he remembered reading about them in Binns history class, they were often thought to be the magical creators of the beavers. Their talent with wood and trees being passed to them when they went into magical hiding centuries ago. He saw Nymphs and a Satyr running around a lake that held a glittering sheen that he was sure held the very sword of Merlin’s prodigy. 

“Mr. Potter, find something more fascinating than my conversation?” he heard and nearly felt the voice of the professor that had to have been less than two feet from him. 

“I do apologize, sir. I never thought I’d see such beauty. These paintings should be on the lower floors where students can see them.” He said, and nearly hit his forehead with his palm, he sounded more like an awestruck teenager instead of the poised man he was intimating to be. 

“We would have these on the lower floors, but there is a particular magic to these paintings. They tell different stories that the younger souls would be too innocent to hear. Come back at your leisure and listen to them spin their tales, you would be introduced to a world of knowledge that I presume you might find beneficial in your line of work.” He said and turned to continue walking, Harry followed after waving at one of the Brownies.

“You know of my line of work?” Harry asked after a moment. Most people didn’t, he had kept it as secret as possible. It was a safety precaution to make sure that he was never followed or compromised on a mission. 

“I know much about you Mr. Potter. I never stopped looking after you, regardless of my vow. Someone had to make sure you didn’t make a fool of the life you had been granted.” Harry stayed silent at this. Not sure if he should say thank you or bite a smart remark in retort. He didn’t have too. “You haven’t, bye the bye, you’ve made yourself into something remarkable.”

He felt the blush sweep across his cheeks and thrice damned his Scottish roots for his inability to hide the heat that crept to his face when complimented. “Thank you, sir. From you that is most high praise, indeed.” 

“I am sure you are used to it as this point, much more than when you were a child. So I will not spin your head full of fanciful muck. But you’ve made a grown, old man proud, and that is the final word on this distasteful topic.” 

Harry stayed silent, for fear that he would say something truly dreadful and sappy. He was relieved when they finally reached the end of the passageway to the expanse of a set of massive wooden doors. There were carvings in both of them, the left a Raven carrying a serpent in his talons up to the skies and in the right, a griffin being ridden by a badger in armor through a path to a mountain. The doors opened when Snape laid his hands against the middle where the two doors met and a circle was. He saw a soft glow of magical energy light the creatures as the doors swung back. 

“Welcome to the Library of Rowena Ravenclaw, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry walked forward and nearly stumbled over his own feet in the process. He had been in Salazar Slytherin’s own chambers but had never thought that the other founders would have their own personal spaces. He had never thought to think of it. He was ashamed of that. He was in awe.

So much awe. 

The entirety of the three walls remaining were all windows that had to be more than 30 feet tall from floor to ceiling, ending where the tower crawled up, a stair case sweeping through the middle to the second floor that was more of a rounded passageway with yet more bookcases, and then above that a Copernicus universe model. He thought vaguely of the time frames of Copernicus and Rowena and noted the time difference and filed the question away for later. He moved forward and noted that every tile on the ground that was in 3 by 3 squares interlocked in wooden planks, told stories of the founders. 

He felt the tears sparkle in his eyes and kept a watchful gaze on the floor, away from Snape until he could get his emotions in gear. There were rows and rows and rows of books, more than he could count. As if there was a magical extension to the library itself in every direction. 

“Snape, this is – it’s truly amazing!” He laughed and moved forward, momentarily disregarding the man that had brought him here. “Can you IMAGINE the knowledge in here? In these books? The history, Snape! The magical and world and universe history!?” He said and twirled in the center of the room before stopping and facing the very man that had brought him here. 

“Yes, I rather do know intimately the knowledge that is here. Not all of it mind you, but a fair amount if you would know. I’ve used this very place as a point of refuge for several years now.” He watched as Snape clapped his hands softly and a small elf, no more than a wee child appeared and nodded to the silent request and popped softly away. “Our breakfast and tea will be here shortly. Now, I am sure you understand that we cannot eat among the books themselves. I am no heathen, but if you will follow me up the final two staircases, I do believe I can awe you once more. 

Harry readily followed up the grandiose staircase to the second floor and noted the two spiral staircases that were much more narrow that went up the right and left side of the tower. 

“Take the left path upward, meet me at the top.” He heard the professor say as he began to alight up the stairs. He followed orders and began the journey. Trying to make sure he didn’t stop, but noting the books that were in small alcoves off the staircase that were lit with magical light. He noted the original works of Merlin the Great, Khan the First and Morgana the Sorceress’ he felt the heat rise in his heart. That feeling that he wanted to devour it all. The impact this could make on his work was insurmountable. He would be able to search the world with the knowledge in this library and locate missing artifacts that were long forgotten and bring them back and study them, protect them, and possibly use them. He was nearly quaking with the need to peel back the covers on the tomes and search for their tales. 

He finally reached the top of the stair case to the third and much smaller room that was at the very apex of the tower, he was sure more than anything that this was Rowena’s very office. He felt her wards as if he knew them personally, as they washed over his skin. Cool but comforting, like the dark side of the pillow, or like a cool cloth on your neck when you felt a little sick. 

The room was nearly 20 feet wide and completely round, the wooden planks that made up the floor were possibly 3 feet in width. A round desk was in the center a hole in the center for the individual to work, and towering windows above the office, with stained glass murals of stories he didn’t know and wanted to, bathed the room in a riotous glory of color. 

“Snape, this is –“ he noted his loss of words and sat on the tufted chair in front of the desk and smiled fondly, knowing the look must be awkward for his counterpart. But he knew a gift when he saw one. He knew an olive branch when one was given. 

“I have never been a man to say I am sorry, very well, Mr. Potter.” He saw as Snape sat back gracefully in the dark wooden chair in the center of the desk. “But in so many things, we must all learn to do things that make us uncomfortable. So, for a great many things, a great and terribly many things, I am saying finally and with conviction.” Harry watched as the man looked up and looked directly into his eyes. “I am sorry.”

Harry felt the moment widen and expand to a century in a second. He felt every wrong thing, every burden, every weight on his war battered soul, warm. He felt every puzzle piece that had been missing, every sleepless night in cold sweat, every second thought when he was on a mission and wondering ‘if only’, come to a crashing halt and his mind cleared and he smiled with all his might. And in the span of only a moment, a second or two at most, he forgave the man in front of him and knew that he’d been forgiven for his own slights.

“Master Snape, I forgive you, in much the same manner that you have asked for forgiveness. And I return your conviction with my own, I am sorry. For every thing I ever did, every word I ever said, every moment of doubt I ever caused you.”

“Mr. Potter…” he smiled as the Professor was halted in whatever statement he was about to make, by an array of food appearing on the desk between them. Fruits and veg, and cakes, and bacon and eggs. There was tea and coffee and jam and toast, and an elf appeared to lay a hand towel on Harry’s lap and Snapes. 

“I do believe we are being informed that we are to eat.” Harry said with a chuckle. 

“Yes, it would appear as if breakfast tea has been served.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, three chapters so soon?! I am kind of just letting this write itself. I have no real idea where this is going. Comments and kudos keep me alive. Love you all! xoxoxo


	4. Formal Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet, and we meet, and we meet again. Maybe one time, at some point, we will remember we've met before and move forward together.

Chapter 4 

“It would appear that you are a grown man in your own right.” 

Harry couldn’t help the continual chuckle that seemed at the ready. “Why the shock? It’s been many years, a body and a mind tend to grown at the same time.” 

“You wouldn’t be wrong, had I not known many children that grew in body and not in mind or spirit…” 

“I am sure that is true, but at in most things with you – it appears that I am the one off situation for this as well.” He looked around the room while he sipped his Early Grey the magnificence of the art was not lost on him as much as the weight of the knowledge that was within the shelves that layered every wall. He half looked for dust that should have littered everything with age, and he couldn’t find any, the elves had obviously kept up with the very time itself. 

“What do you know of my profession, Sir?” He asked, as he stood up and moved to a shelf that held particularly old and ancient tomes behind a magical barrier that shimmered in the glinting light of the multicolored glass on the ceiling.

“I know that you seek out magical objects that have come awake or been awakened. I know that you are been the sole reason that some of the greatest artifacts have been found in the past 5 years. I know that you get your research materials from libraries all over the world, and that you have also gotten a mastery in Potions and Defense and that you are in the process of getting your Rune Mastery and if the rumors are true, and far be it from me for believing them, that you are in talks to get your Arithmancy Mastery as well.” He listened and ticked off people in his list that could have shared the information. 

The very idea that Snape had been keeping tabs on him with multiple people as informants for years, though originally a scoffable concept, seemed the only option now. There were only so many people that knew any one of those things, and no one that knew them all except Hermione and Ron. He doubted that they had divulged this information without his consent. 

“Why do you sound so annoyed?” He asked, picking up on the tone that was just under the factual ticking off of knowledge gained. 

“You showed little, if any, capability in any fields of learning while you were here. You showed a remarkable natural talent for Defense, and an inherent scope of understanding practical magic. But when it came to learning anything to broaden your mind, you willfully rebelled. It is rather difficult to imagine that you have gotten this far without help. And trust me, I mean this with only a small amount of offense.” 

Harry dragged his fingers over the Scripture of ‘The Three Maidens of Misandry’, vaguely wondering if they were here as a part of a collection of if the original Ravenclaw mistress was a Misandrist. “I had help, of course. Though I am sure not the type to which you are referring.” Harry barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes to the very back of his sockets. 

“When everything cooled down finally after the war, about two years later, I found myself in an odd mental state. I couldn’t keep up with the actions that my body would take, and I couldn’t master my own personal magical core. I had a mental breakdown at 19 and Hermione and Ron found me locked in a cage I had made of magical steel and gold, bruised and bleeding. It appears that while I had been asleep I had caged myself in as an attempt to protect the others that were in the building I was staying in.” He tapped on a book that had gold dust over silver writing. 

“They spent the better part of 3 days locked in the room with me, talking me down from whatever edge I was on. We all decided at that point that I needed to take some classes to figure out what was happening, as well as get a therapist. The first part was easy, the second was not. It took almost 6 months of constant searching until we found, and get ready for this” he said and smiled “a leprechaun in Ireland that was willing and able to listen to me. He took a magical oath more than two thousand years ago that stops him from speaking to anyone about war time tragedies and those that come to him with their pain.” 

“And of your learning?” Snape sounded interested, which was a good feeling, he mulled on the fact that other than Hermione, Ron, and Duederline his therapist, he hadn’t spoken to anyone in far longer than he wanted to think about. “Well Duederline, helped me with that. He is incredibly knowledgeable, and after we figured out what was happening with my magic – the rest was incredibly easy to follow.” 

Harry turned and walked back to the chair he’d vacated and noticed the hot, steamy mug of tea that was ready for him. He sat down and leaned back, the next part of the story would take a lot of energy. “Did Dumbledore ever tell you about Voldemort’s horcruxes?” 

“He didn’t, but he didn’t have to. I was there when the Diary was made.”   
Harry lifted a brow and made a mental note to follow up on that at a later time. “Okay, did you know or where you aware that I was an accidental Horcrux?” He didn’t look at Snape, he never did get over the shame he felt at being a dark item for all of his childhood, and had wondered at the effect that it had ultimately had on the Dursleys’ and others in his life. 

“I had… assumed. Though it was a while until I was able to put those pieces together.” 

“Your intelligence has always been something I admired…, even when I hated you.” Harry said, and leaned back, his neck resting on the back of the chair and his eyes in middle distance between the stained glass and the dust floating in the air. 

“Duederline was able to help me understand that the Horcrux had been not only a conduit of power for Voldemort, but had been, in more ways than one, a stopper for my magic for almost all of my life. When others had been hitting their magical majority at 17, I wasn’t capable of it, because of the darkness that was clogging my magical core. During several intense therapy sessions, Duederline was able to finally get me to admit that I had been a virgin the night of the final battle. The night that I slayed The Dark Lord.” He chuckled in a dark self-deprecatory way. 

“He pulled out several old parchments on magic, virginity, magical majority, and Heroism. He told me that due to a bunch of overlapping magical lines of theory, that I was far more powerful than I had ever been. That due to me being a virgin on the night of my magical majority, due to the self-sacrifice I had made and combined with being in love and having lost my love, I had been reborn into a Warlock. When I had come back on the ground in the forbidden forest, and I had been carried by Hagrid back to Hogwarts, I had died a mere child with magic, and had been awakened as a man of warlock status.” He moved his finger around the rim of the cup he was holding, feeling the hot wet heat on his finger, grounding him to the here and now. “The rest came easy after that. Duederline and I went to Ollivander who was able to help me create a wand that was strong enough for me. Then once I had spent time working with that, I was able to think. I was able to put away all the things that cluttered my mind, and I was able to think finally. Snape, I wish you could underst- you can!” Harry jolted forward and grimaced when the warm tea hit his trousers. As graceful as he’d ever been. He sighed.

“Look into my eyes. This time, I volunteer for Legimancy.” 

“Harry, I do not need to –“

“Snape, sir, please. I think you will be interested. At least on an intellectual level.” He watched the interest peak in the Professors eyes. 

“As you wish.” 

He leaned forward and felt the tingle of awareness brush his mind, as he closed down the facts he wanted to keep private and opened his mind up to the intrusion for the rest.

**** 

Memories floated by in a landscape of black and white. He walked with Snape as he guided the man through to the memories of the night that he had finally learned to do what Snape had been trying to teach him all those years before.

“Young man, you’ve done it! You’ve mastered your new wand!” He watched in fond amusement as the little leprechaun danced in joy in the meadow that was now located just outside his home. “You created a floo! Magical fire that is at your command, one of the final formats of magical training! Now… how do you feel?” He smiled as he watched the small creature go from bounding about, to sitting still, floating about 10 inches above the grass. 

“I feel, small. No – that isn’t true.” 

“Take your time, my boy, speak it as it comes to you.”

Harry watched himself in the meadow as he started realizing his mind was clear. 

“I feel, clean. I feel… stronger? Wider? I feel like, I am small, but my connection with magic makes me bigger. I feel… Due, I feel calm!” Harry smiled as tears filled his eyes in both forms. “I feel calm. I feel peace. I feel strong and mentally strong at that. I don’t feel dangerous. I don’t feel weak. I feel capable. I feel… hold on…” 

Harry turned and watched Severus.

“I feel, stupid. No… ignorant. Like, there is all this knowledge that I need to understand the scope of what is in me, but I don’t KNOW it. Like it’s just… there. I just NEED to get it. I am hungry. I mean… I AM hungry, but this is different. I am hungry for… I don’t know how to describe it, Due – I am… argh!” 

“You hunger for knowledge. You hunger to understand that which you are. You hunger to fill the void of information that would bring you to your most capable. You are ready to finally start learning, my boy.” 

Harry watched the small man as he floated to the ground on his small feet and he walked over, climbing up the memory version of himself, “You are ready to learn.” Harry stood in shock as the Leprechaun looked from memory Harry to mental Harry and winked.

**** 

Harry came to, in the library of Rowena Ravenclaw and rubbed his temples. It would never be totally easy to have your mind invaded, no matter how willing you were. “After that, it was like a thirst I couldn’t quench. But it was easy. Like, following threads of information that led to other strands of information. I will admit there were things that were difficult, but not for the will to learn, but the ability to be patient. Something that has always been the most human aspect of me.” He grinned at himself and warmed up the, now cold, cup of tea in his hand.

“You are a warlock.” He watched as Snape processed all that he had been told, and seen. It would take a moment, but he had faith. “You are a warlock. You – are aware that there is only one other living warlock in the world, correct?” 

Harry gaped, and leaned forward, his tea, now warm, forgotten. “What! No, who, where, I must see him!” 

He stared in awe at this new information as Snape stood and moved around the desk and to the wide expanse of windows at the edge of the office. “Not all warlocks are granted their power through a mysterious line of events. I don’t believe that you were granted your power through such events either, but I do believe that will become clear.” 

Harry stayed silent and open to what the Professor was saying, like a lecture and he was a sponge soaking up the words as if they were water. 

“In your defeat of the dark lord you came across the lore of the Peverell brothers. You were able to get what you needed but you didn’t understand something, something very important but not to defeat the dark lord, something important only if you survived his death.” 

Snape moved forward and leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. “When you slayed Voldemort you killed the descendant of Antioch Peverell, you still left another out there, a direct descendant of Cadmus. I am sure you have the ability to understand that your ancestor is Ignotus, correct?” 

Harry nodded, and whispered, “yes…”

“Well, I my thrice grandfather is Cadmus Peverell.” 

Harry stood in awe and ignored the tea cup as it crashed to the ground in three thousand pieces. “I am Cadmus’ thrice great grandson, Severus Tobias Snape, nee Prince, nee Peverell.” He stood in silent awe as Snape floated from the ground, closed his eyes and summoned his staff. A 7foot dark gleaming wooden joy to behold, an emerald at the apex surrounded by moss and floating saplings that had small buds of life on their tips. 

“You, you are… you’re, Snape…” Harry could hear himself and couldn’t help the shock, awe and wonder that kept him from completing a sentence. 

“I think that with such knowledge, one must come to terms with the fact that we are not on last name terms any longer, wouldn’t you agree?” Snape said, and Harry heard the voice as if it was in, around, and covering him. “Y- Yea- Yes.” He said, annoyed his stammer but no less able to avoid it. 

“Then, how about formal introductions,” Snape said, as he lowered himself to the floor and opened his eyes. He walked forward and held out his hand. “Hello, I am Severus Tobias Snape, descendant of Cadmus Peverell, Heir to the Prince line.”   
Harry took the outstretched hand and gasped as the sting of electricity climbed up his arm and jolted his heart with two beats.

“Hello S-Sev-Severus, I am Harry James Potter.” He took a moment and looked up into the very eyes of the only other warlock in the world and found himself momentarily captivated. 

“It seems we have a lot to discuss. But I must get back to classes.”

“Yes, of course.” Harry sighed and then in a flash of thought brought his other hand up and took two fingers to the temple of Snape. “Here is my home, and you are keyed to the floo. You are under fidelous now. But, I am sure I can trust you, you’ve never betrayed my trust before.” He whispered the last part and then stepped back. Removing all touch from the other man, and feeling oddly bereft. 

“I expect you for dinner, sir.” He said and bowed forward. “Until then,…” He smiled, “Severus, I wish you a good day.” And apparated out of the library. He later would wonder why he had decided to show off a bit, and shrugged it off. He couldn’t let Snape be the only person to display their power, that was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all things we are but memories waiting to happen. We are joys waiting to be had. We are worth much more than we see, and much more than we know. 
> 
> Comments and kudos as always spur me on. 
> 
> xxxooo Jacks

**Author's Note:**

> I finally have internet!!! I wont make promises, you guys see how intermittent I am - but I will try.
> 
> I love nothing more than comments and kudos. Please let me know what you are thinking, and let me know if you like where it's going with a kudos. 
> 
> As always,
> 
> xoxoxo


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